you can hear it in the silence (you are in love)
by DaughterOfPoseidon333
Summary: He had to let her go. Or Once again she had to take that first step and he had to watch her leave. Set during-ish Civil War. No spoilers. Part 1 of i don't know why (we break so hard) series.
**I am most definitely in denial about how painful Civil War is going to be. I mean, this isn't exactly a happy little one-shot, but it's probably mild compared to how badly this movie is going to crush my heart and soul. Oh well. As long as we get some more quality Steve and Natasha scenes I will be happy.**

 **Title taken from Taylor Swift's "You are in Love"**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-:-**

It was almost midnight when Steve heard the knock on his bedroom door. He wasn't really surprised—the other Avengers came to his door all the time. Partly because he was team leader and if they needed anything, well, he was the guy to go to. The other part was just because they could. They were all friends, so it was normal at this point to just show up at each other's doors at odd hours of the day. Setting down his sketchbook, he climbed out of bed and padded barefoot over to the door. When he opened it, he was even less surprised to see Natasha standing there. More often than not it was her at his door anyway.

"Natasha," he said by way of greeting. He gave her a quick once over to see that she was fully dressed, a bag slung over her shoulder. His heart plummeted, because with everything that was going on, it was impossible not to know what she was doing at his door in the middle of the night. He knew Natasha, knew that she was struggling to decide what stance to take on the Superhero Registration Act, but he had still hoped that she would stay. But seeing her there, shoulders tense, eyes unreadable, his last bit of hope shriveled up in his chest, leaving him feeling hollow. He shouldn't have been surprised—part of him had known this was coming, known that she—

"You're leaving," he stated softly, meeting her gaze. He wasn't angry. He understood. And her features softened as she registered his resigned expression.

She paused, a small tilt of her head. "Yeah. I am. I didn't want to leave without telling you in person first. Steve…" she trailed off, mouth open in a small _o_ like she wanted to say more.

"Do you want to come in?" Steve asked before she could say goodbye so soon.

Natasha hesitated. Another pause. Then, "Sure."

Relief bubbled in Steve's chest as he sidestepped to allow her into his room, shutting the door behind them. He stepped past her in order to clean off his chair, but Natasha remained standing, stiff as a board, though she set her duffel bag down quietly, like she was afraid of making too much noise. She looked uncomfortable, even though she'd been in his room dozens of times before and was almost as at home in his space as her own.

Steve faced her, exhaling slowly. "Nat—"

"Before you say anything," she interrupted, taking a step towards him, "I just want you to know why—"

"I know why," Steve said quickly, gently. Natasha stared at him, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly. "I know you. I know why. And it's okay. You don't need to explain yourself or justify why you're leaving, not to me. I understand and…and it's okay."

Natasha gave a small gasp, tearing her gaze away from his. She crossed her arms over her chest, like she was trying to curl in on herself, become smaller in order to hide from him. She was trying to keep her emotions in check, Steve could tell. He could count the times he'd seen her this vulnerable on one hand, and like each of those times before, he felt the nearly irresistible urge to pull her into his arms. He didn't, but he stepped close enough so that she could reach out to him if she wanted to.

Natasha looked back up at him, eyes sad but dry. "I'm sorry, Steve. I really don't want this to be about picking sides, or picking him over you, I just…you're fighting for what you believe and I have to do the same. It's not fair to you if I stay here."

"I know," he repeated in a whisper. "And it's not fair of me to ask you to stay. You have to go and I…I have to be okay with that."

Natasha nodded almost robotically, squeezing her eyes shut. Ignoring all instinct that told him it would only make saying goodbye harder, Steve pulled her to him, her head immediately falling against his chest as he wound his arms around her body, her fingers curling around his back and gripping his t-shirt as he did so. They held onto each other like that for an immeasurable amount of seconds, but it still didn't feel like enough.

All too soon she was pulling away. "I should go."

She turned to go, but Steve—almost subconsciously—reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Wait," he said quickly, "Please stay."

"What happened to not asking me to stay?" she asked, trying to sound joking, but it fell short in the heaviness of the moment.

"I know. I know, and this isn't about that. I just meant that…if all we have is tonight….please. Please stay with me."

Natasha didn't move—didn't pull away, but didn't step forward either. He could feel it, how much she wanted to pull away, to leave, if only to make it that much easier for the both of them. Because this was hard, it was so goddamn _hard._ Steve didn't know exactly how to define his relationship with Natasha. They were teammates, co-leaders of the Avengers, friends, of course. But that didn't account for all the little extra touches, the stolen glances, the moments of silence where no words were needed because they would just look at each other, completely understanding anything and everything between them. It didn't account for the way his heart beat louder and stronger in his chest when she was near, the quickening of his breath, or the flutter in his stomach when she touched him. He didn't know what it all meant (but _damn_ did he want to know, wanted to spend forever figuring it out if it meant she was by his side). But all they had was tonight. And one way or another, tonight would end. He just wanted to make sure that it lasted as long as it possibly could.

"Please." One last try, his voice impossibly, heartbreakingly soft.

And Natasha caved. He could feel all hesitation slip from her body as her wrist relaxed in his grip, her hand sliding up until her fingers were intertwined in his. His pulse picked up and Steve found he couldn't tear his gaze away from hers as he walked slowly backwards until the back of his legs hit the edge of the mattress. He reached back blindly and swiped his sketchbook, pencils, and other papers on to the floor, not caring about the mess as Natasha kicked off her shoes and let go of his hand long enough to pull off her jacket.

Steve guided her gently onto his bed until they were laying side by side, Natasha's eyes unreadable as she tucked a pillow under her head and looked at him. They stayed like that, another of their many moments of silence that needed no words. Steve wanted to reach out and touch her, to assure himself that she was really here, in this moment with him, but something stayed his hand. So he ran his eyes slowly over her body, memorizing every line, every detail, every curve, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath she took. He knew he would try to sketch her like this later and it wouldn't turn out right, no matter how much erasing and redrawing he did. Still, he tried to etch her into her mind, even if his attempts of putting her down on paper would be less than perfect.

"What are you thinking about?" Natasha asked suddenly, hardly above a whisper, loud enough to break the quiet.

Steve met her gaze again. "About how I'm going to try and draw you like this later and it's not going to work."

A hint of humor glinted in her green eyes. She knew he liked to draw, knew that she (among the other members of the team) were most often his subjects, so he felt no reason to hide it from her. "Take a picture, Rogers," she teased, "It'll last longer."

"I already have, like, a million selfies of you on my phone—"

"Okay, it's a few hundred at most," she interjected. "And some candids of you when you're not paying attention. And then a bunch of the team. It's not my fault you just leave your phone lying around. It's very irresponsible of you, Rogers."

He gave a small chuckle before any hint of laughter faded. "A picture still isn't the same as having you here."

Her expression softened. "I know."

"I'm not going to try and convince you to stay. I want to— _damn_ , do I want to," he paused, noting how her chest rose as she took a sharp breath in. "But I know you need to leave, and we've already established that it wouldn't be fair to you. So, when the time comes, I'll let you go."

"When the time comes," Natasha echoed, barely a breath, almost to herself. Then louder, "But we still have tonight, right?"

"Right," he mouthed.

Natasha shifted closer, their bodies no more than two inches apart. Her gaze burned into his own, eyes glancing at his mouth for a split second before shifting her gaze up again. Steve's heart pounded in his chest, mouth suddenly dry.

"Kiss me." The words echoed those Natasha had said to him two years before, on that escalator as they ran from Rumlow and his Hydra lackeys. But this time, instead of getting flustered, of shying away from the idea of kissing his coworker and partner—who he'd been just as attracted to then as he was now—he felt a surge of confidence rush through him. Because she wasn't just his coworker or his partner, not even just his friend. She was something significantly and infinitely more, so he took a breath and closed the distance between them, sealing his mouth over hers.

Natasha made a little noise in the back of her throat, maybe out of surprise, but then she was kissing him back, desperate, a second later. If he thought about it too much, Steve wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, so he let instinct take over, let himself simply _feel_. But Natasha knew, _she knew,_ and she guided him, in that unspoken language that was all their own. Within seconds Steve was breathing hard against her mouth. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. Her hands cupped the side of his face, slid around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair and tugging just slightly. Steve groaned, caught off guard, and, _god,_ his heart was pounding so hard in his chest. If he focused and listened he was sure he could hear hers beating in time with his, like drumbeats against their ribcages.

" _Steve,_ " Natasha breathed, pulling back so she could look him in the eye. "You said you wouldn't ask me to stay, so I can't ask you to stop this, but I just want you to know that if you keep going at it like this…there might be a chance that not all of us will make it out of this in one piece."

Steve held her gaze, swallowed hard. "I know."

"Yeah, and I know _you_ ," she said firmly. "And I know you won't stop. But neither will Tony. Not for this, not for what he believes is right. You two are a lot alike in that way. I think what I'm really trying to say is do you really want to punch your way out of this one?"

Steve inhaled slowly. "I don't know. Right now I'm just…I'm just doing what I feel is right. Like you said."

Natasha paused for a beat, and then nodded. She took a breath and then curled herself into his body, tucking her head against his chest. Steve wrapped his arms around her, content, but also dreading the moment when morning came and he would have to let her go for sure. He considered telling Natasha how he felt. He wanted to tell her that he loved her. He didn't realize it until that moment, but he did, _he loved her_ , and it made so much sense. Everything about her made sense. Except for the fact that he was letting her go, again. First D.C., and now…he could barely stomach it. His arms tightened around her.

"Hey, Nat?"

"Yeah?"

"I—" Steve stopped himself short. He didn't know what to say. He knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn't do that to her. Not now. It wasn't the right time. "I just want you to know that, whatever happens…I still trust you with my life. With everything."

Natasha didn't say anything. Her hands, which had been resting gently against his chest, suddenly tightened into fists around the fabric of his t-shirt. Her body shuddered once, as if in a sob, but it didn't happen again.

They said no more and Steve fell asleep to the sound of Natasha's steady breathing.

-:-

It was almost six in the morning when Natasha woke up. She was still curled up against Steve. She looked up at his sleeping face and almost changed her mind about leaving. He looked so peaceful, so unburdened by his position as leader, by his past, by the civil war that was threatening to tear apart the friendships they'd all built up over the years.

She wanted to stay with him, she did. They were partners. Friends. Maybe something more if she allowed herself to admit that. Whatever they were, they had each other's backs. They supported each other. That said, she understood where he was coming from, why he was taking the stance he was. But she also understood why Tony was fighting. And she herself had gone unchecked for so many years, killed so many innocent people because of it. But by agreeing with Tony that meant leaving Steve. It was the best choice. Though, it put them on opposite sides of this conflict and that was the last thing she wanted. If it came down to it, she didn't know if she could fight him, much less something worse if it came to that.

Pushing down all thoughts of worst case scenarios, Natasha slowly, carefully untangled herself from the cocoon of Steve's arms, missing the warmth of his body immediately. When she threw her legs over the side of the bed, her feet scuffed against the papers he'd tossed on the floor the night before. She almost laughed because it was so unlike him. He was one of the most neat and organized people she knew. She got off the bed and crouched down to pick up his things, stacking them neatly on his bedside table. She picked up his sketchbook last. She'd seen it enough times, held it enough for the worn leather cover to be familiar in her hands. She sat on the edge of the bed again, thumbing through the pages.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was stalling. She should just leave while Steve was asleep. It'd make it easier that way. But she stayed, flipping through his drawings. He'd showed her a lot of them before so she knew he wouldn't mind. There were some pages that were just mindless doodles, but most of the rest were portraits of the team. There were a lot of her. Natasha remembered how he'd blushed the first time he'd shown her a drawing he did of her. Now the drawings just made her heart ache.

There was a slight shift in the mattress as she closed the sketchbook and set it on the nightstand, and Natasha knew that Steve was awake and she'd missed her chance to leave when it would be easiest.

"If I could," she started softly, knowing that he could hear her, "I would have you ask me to stay. I want you to. I want you to ask me to stay. To _beg_ me. But I know you can't. I know I can't ask that of you."

She turned to look at him and his eyes were on her, so blue, burning intense ( _for her_ , she thought in the back of her mind) and with sadness at the same time. In that moment Natasha realized she loved Steve Rogers. What should have been so clear to her over the past couple years was only making itself known in that second. _She loved him._ She didn't know when it happened, she didn't know how, but there was no denying it. So much of her life growing up had been dedicated to teaching her not to love, that love was nothing but a weakness. And maybe that was a little true, given how she was feeling right now, how unsure she felt about standing on her own two legs. But love was also strength. And she felt so, so strong with him, so much like the real her. He made her feel _loved,_ without even trying. And now she was letting him go. She was walking away, yet again. First in D.C., and now, again, she was going to turn her back on him.

"Steve, I—" the words caught in her throat. It wasn't the right time. She couldn't say it, not now. Her mind flashed briefly to the kiss. The _kiss._ She'd asked him to kiss her, wasn't sure if he'd do it. But then he had, and for a moment, only the two of them had existed. _God,_ she wanted to kiss him again. But she couldn't. Not now. _Not now._ "Please, be careful."

Steve's features softened and he sat up, moving to sit next to her on the edge of the bed. He turned his head to look at her, lifting up a hand to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She involuntarily leaned into his touch.

"Just… _please_ be careful," she repeated in a whisper.

"I will." He said the words, she thought, to comfort her. But maybe they were a promise of sorts, too.

"You know, when we see each other again, it might not be under as friendly of circumstances."

Steve huffed out a short laugh. "Yeah, I know."

Natasha didn't say anything. She knew she didn't need to. They both knew how serious this all was, and trying to sugar-coat it with words wouldn't do any good. Instead, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek, as she had two years ago in that cemetery. She let the kiss linger a moment longer, trying to convey how much she wanted to stay, even though she couldn't.

When she pulled back, almost unable to look him in the eyes as she did so, he reached for her hand, his fingers lingering on hers till they slipped away completely as she stood and stepped away from the bed. Natasha slipped on her shoes, tugged her arms through the sleeves of her jacket, and then grabbed her bag.

She gave Steve one last look. His eyes pleaded for her not to go. But he gave her a small nod. It should've made Natasha feel better, but somehow her heart felt even heavier in her chest, making that first step away from him nearly impossible. Still, she took it. One step at a time until she was eventually driving down the highway, headed to the city and the Avengers Tower, feeling like she and Steve were a million miles away from each other.

 **-:-**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-DaughterOfPoseidon333**


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